You know the tour isn’t going well when you have to deviate from your standard list of questions to ask, “Now where is the teacher that is supposed to be in this classroom right now?” as you watch two boys proceed to shove each other. Ugh.
Hubby was carrying Robby out the front door of our building; I was taking Robby’s stroller/carseat and Sam out the back so I could use the wheel chair accessible ramp. I was walking in front of Sam with the stroller when I heard him fall on his way down the ramp. I let go of the stroller to turn around and help him up because he was clearly hurt and upset. When I started to get him up he became visibly more upset, trying to articulate something and pointing over my shoulder. Finally he found the words through his tears, “Wobby! Wobby!” I turned around to see what he was so upset about. When I let go of the stroller it had rolled down the ramp, down a small hill, and into a bush, where it now stood askew. Sam had forgotten that Robby was with Daddy and thought his brother had crashed into a bush, and that is what he was most concerned about even though his hands were quite skinned and bloody.
I don’t know if I should be really proud that he is such a protective and empathetic big brother, or if I should be really worried that he thinks his Mom would let his younger sibling fly down a hill in a stroller and crash into a bush.
The dining room. 12:30pm. Thursday. Late October.
SAM is sitting at the table eating his lunch. MOM is hovering by him, occasionally sitting down at the table until ROBBY, a 2 month old baby strapped to her in a front pack begins to whimper and wake, to which she responds by periodically standing and swaying back and forth while gently bouncing up and down.
SAM has just started dropping small bites of hot dog into his cup of milk.
MOM: Sam, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Isn’t it kind of yucky?
SAM: Mmmm…no. Just right. Yummy. (takes 2 sips of the milk) See? Yummy. (adds 3 more pieces of hot dog to milk, dips one piece and eats it) Out, Mommy. Hot gog out.
MOM: You want me to get the hot dog out with a fork?
SAM: Yes.
(MOM picks up fork and proceeds to retrieve hot dog pieces from the milk and deposit them on the plate)
SAM: No! No! Eat, Mommy, eat!
MOM: You want to eat these bites?
SAM: Yes! Yummy! (MOM proceeds to feed SAM 7 bites of milky hot dog with a fork) Try it! Try it!
MOM: Um, no, Honey. Thank you for sharing, but no thank you…
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Yes, occasionally I feed my son a turkey dog. I’m not proud of it, but sometimes, for example when one is still negotiating how to handle having two kids, one needs to skip a lunch time battle every so often.We’ll be having Mac and Cheese with hidden cauliflower tonight. Love this new book!
Ever since Sam was born I have waited to see what would be chosen as his “Lovey.” I didn’t know when it would happen, but I looked forward to seeing what type of object would become the object of his affection. For me there was Old Dolly, a tattered mess of a bean bag doll that I carried with me EVERYWHERE for several years - only my mom can probably tell you how many years it was (comment jaybee4000?). Early on I tried to force some type of Lovey on him because I wanted him to have one. I don’t know why. I guess I just find it endearing somehow. I would envision him walking around the house with a dirty old blanket or a stuffed animal dangling from his hand. To a great extent I’m sure I also wanted him to have one because it might have helped with his horribly horrendous sleep habits - if he was attached to an object perhaps he could be just a wee bit less attached to me. When it didn’t happen naturally I would go in search of something that might make a good Lovey and as a result ended up with several animals, dolls, and blankets that have been completely untouched. Sam is just not into snuggly toys, never has been. And so, I eventually gave up on the Lovey and accepted that I’d never get to see him cuddled up on the couch with a bear.
Sam is just more interested in cars/trucks/trains/things with wheels. Again, he always has been. We certainly did not seek out stereotypical boy toys for him when he was a baby. Over the past year or so he has become more and more attached to his cars and trains and trucks. First they were what he always wanted to play with, then they started coming with us everywhere. I learned very quickly that when it was time to leave the house it was crucial that Sam be given an opportunity to choose which two cars/trains/trucks he would bring on our journey. If, perchance, we got out of the house without at least two small vehicles we would never even make it to the elevator before he would scream in realization of our mistake. His vehicles sat with him in shopping carts, were carried around playgrounds, and clutched at playgroups. At home, Sam cannot move to a new location without bringing some number of cars. If I want him to come from the living room to the dinner table he must bring somewhere between 2 and 10 vehicles. They then must be lined up on the table to “watch” him eat (he’s not allowed to play with them at the table; they have to be “parked”) and I cannot expect him to get up in his seat until they are all perfectly in place. This is pretty much true for any movement from one room to another. Time must be allotted for the selection and positioning of matchbox cars and/or Thomas trains no matter what the activity.
More recently, Sam started wanting to bring trains and cars to bed with him. At first I tried to persuade him to bring them to bed for our reading time and then put the vehicles to “sleep” on the nightstand. It worked for a little while, but then there were battles when it was time to put the trains in their beds, and really, that’s not a battle worth waging as long as he doesn’t try to play with them instead of going to sleep. So now part of our bedtime ritual includes the selection of two very special Loveys. One night Sam will fall asleep holding Blue Choo Choo in one hand and Black Car in another, the next night it could be Red Pick Up Truck and Big Red Car. I’m not sure how he chooses each night; he loves so many (although there are about 6-10 to which he is truly attached and are chosen repeatedly). And somehow the whole thing happened without me even really thinking about it and seeing what was going on. They’re not exactly what I would have chosen for his Loveys, but the fact that my son sleeps with a car in each hand held close to his chest and talks in his sleep about choo choos and parking cars is pretty endearing if you ask me.
Oh, this makes me feel much better. Perhaps I’m not scarring them after all.
Labels: Brothers, Pictures, The Little One, Toddler
I’m counting down the days until I will be on my own with two kids. I’ve had the amazing benefit of having my husband here followed by my mom since I am technically still not supposed to lift Sam (yeah right!) because of the C-section. So I still don’t know how I will handle this mother of two thing. Right now the suspense is killing me. For every meal, every tantrum, every failed nap I think, “How will I do this when it’s just me? How will we eat? How will we rest? How will I get Sam out and socializing and not let him go crazy with boredom? How?” And I know it all works out and we will just have to get in the groove, but I won’t know how it will all work out until I actually see it happen.
I’d like to know that no one will feel neglected (including me and my husband) but I’m not just not sure I will ever feel like I’m not neglecting someone at some point ever again. So far what I’ve learned about parenting two is that if, at the end of the day, I feel good about my interactions and time spent with one child then my immediate following thought is that I didn’t spend enough time with the other. I’m thinking I may feel that way every day for the rest of my life, or at least until they move out.
On a happy note - I have pictures:
And look what we found by the side of the road! Sometimes an activity will find you.
Labels: Mommyhood, Pictures, The Little One, Toddler
Number One: If you happen to be pregnant and roaming around the CVS with your toddler and that Eric Clapton “Tears in Heaven” song comes on, you don’t wanna stay there. For the love of God, run - run as fast as you can out of the store because we all remember what that song is about. If you stay, you’ll have to accept that everyone else in the store, including your son (who is also wondering why you are lovingly stroking his cheek and kissing him repeatedly when he just wants to play with the bottle of sunblock), will be wondering why there is a huge pregnant woman aimlessly walking around with tears streaming down her face in the CVS.
Number Two: You’re out on the patio with your toddler, who is happily playing with his sand and water table. You’ve just finished a phone conversation on your cell and now you’ve noticed you have to pee…because you always have to pee…because you are nearly 9 months pregnant. When you get up to run in to the bathroom, you look around the patio to make sure your kid can’t do anything more than over-water your plants while you’re gone. You glance at your cell phone on the other side of the patio and on the ground. And you note how in your current huge state you hate getting things off the ground. And you decide that your son has shown no interest in the phone since being out here so it is ok to leave it there while you run inside.
You know you did the wrong thing while you are sitting there peeing. You just know. So when you get back out onto the patio the first thing you do is look at the spot on the ground where your cell was sitting - empty. And you think perhaps you imagined leaving it out there because obviously you wouldn’t actually do that because it is so incredibly stupid so this must be one of those stories you see being played out in your head that didn’t actually happen. But when you look inside on the desk where you would have put it it’s not there either. You don’t see it anywhere out on the patio and it’s not over the railing. You ask your cherub where your phone is, at which point he goes and retrieves it from his sand and water table, the water side…
You call your husband; he sounds…distant, and not in the emotional sense. And then later it has no picture on the screen. So the phone is taken apart and left to air dry overnight.
So my message to you: don’t stay at the CVS when the saddest freakin’ song in the world comes on, at least not while pregnant, and don’t leave your cell alone with your toddler. Just don’t.
And with that, we are off to the shore tomorrow for a week. I realize that with my infrequent blogging habits as of late no one will even notice this departure, but I figured if I had a good excuse to explain my absence I should take it. Bye Bye.
Have the kid, get the mom haircut, write the mommy blog. Do I have that right so far? Can I get a better haircut or is that against the rules?
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